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by sealament



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Presents, Domestic, Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, I don't know what half these tags are
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-23 11:19:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13188966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sealament/pseuds/sealament
Summary: “I didn’t think you knew how to set your own table, much less decorate your own tree.”--For @aloy-of-the-nora as part of mattelektrasanta.





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**Author's Note:**

> I should preface this by saying that I know next to nothing about Tiffany forks. I also don’t usually write fluff.  
> To my santa, hope you enjoy :)

Matt’s standing at the door of her penthouse, and he can sense the smell of fir needles wafting through the apartment. There’s a lot to take in, even from where he’s standing – Elektra shuffling, apparently setting her dinner table with difficulty, champagne bubbles surfacing to the tops of two flutes, and some elaborate meal cooking in the oven. Elektra’s not dressed for the occasion safe for a deep burgundy robe, which caresses her ankles and momentarily arouses him. He can’t yet catch the scent of her usual haute couture perfumes. She must’ve dabbed only a few drops onto her neck to entice him up close.

“Damn it, where are my Tiffany forks?” she mumbles under her breath, rushing around the cupboards, and Matt has to smile as he leans into the doorframe. His body stills for a few seconds before knocking, listening to the domesticity she has created on the other side of the wall. He can even hear the light sway of the tree decorations, and tries to remember the Christmas tree lights he’d seen as a kid walking down Fifth Avenue.

“I didn’t think you knew how to set your own table, much less decorate your own tree,” Matt says when she finally opens the door. Her heart picks up a bit upon seeing him, but no for long. She turns around, her hips swaying nonchalantly just for him, as though she wasn’t struggling with her forks a minute ago. Her heartbeat is back to the rhythm he is now attuned to, a deep, calm sea rocking to and fro beneath him on easy Saturday mornings.

“Well, I did invite a decorator friend to help me with that, but setting a table, I should admit, is tougher than I expected. I know where everything goes, naturally, I just… don’t know where to find it,” she says, focused and rushing around her kitchen once more.

“Here, let me help. Tiffany, you said?” She nods. Knows him too well.

Matt cocks his head, listens closely to every drawer, and finds the jackpot within seconds.

“How did you know?” Elektra asks, squinting her eyes playfully.

“They’re lighter than your other ones, but denser.” He loves impressing her. It often takes a good deal of effort, but he’s not exactly your typical New Yorker.

As she resumes setting the table, he walks over to the Christmas tree and deposits his neatly wrapped gift: a long, red scarf she had pointed out on one of their many strolls. He notices another present lying on the tree skirt, wrapped with pricey paper, that is shaped to be a small box. It wouldn’t be jewelry, he supposes, and she knows he would never agree to wear an expensive watch. He presses his lips together in thought and joins her in the kitchen.

They dine on opposite sides of the table, tearing into her juicy turkey and sipping on dry wine. Elektra laughs and he relishes in the way it reverberates deep in his ribcage, making his head tingle.

He’s happy. Happier than he’ll ever be, he thinks. A happiness that he never really allowed himself to feel. His dad would be proud.

They settle on the couch, with her back between his legs. Her thick, long locks fall onto his chest, and he inhales their fresh scent.

Suddenly, she bounces off to the tree. “Is this for me?”

She unwraps the scarf and lets it loose around her neck. “I love it,” she says and it’s genuine, but her excitement is reserved for something else. “Now open yours.”

She brings him the small box, and he lifts it to his ear to shake it. “Are these… are these cuff-links?”

Her face suddenly brightens, lips tugging into a broad smile. He delicately tears the paper and realizes they aren't Burberry or Ferragamo. His fingers twist them in his palm; a few tears well up in his eyes.

“They’re my dad’s, the only ones he’d ever had,” he almost chokes out. “How – how did you even know? They were old and broken.”

Elektra shrugs. “I’m glad you like them. They were on your dresser, actually. Not particularly hard to find.”

She smiles again, and he pulls her into a hug, planting a small kiss onto her neck. "Love you," he whispers.

They spend the evening on the couch, taking their time to finish the bottle. After spending his recent Christmases at church with Father Lanthom, this kind of change is nice. He's not sure Foggy would exactly approve, but it's not really about that. Not tonight. Elektra’s warm in his arms, her heartbeat singing to his. Her light perfume bursts into his lungs with warmth. He’s home.


End file.
